That thought makes me laugh, and her expression shifts with confusion, as I reach over and trace my fingers along the length of her larynx, down to the dip in her throat, the notch where her necklace sits. She's wearing the one I bought her. She doesn't wear her engagement ring, but she never takes that off.

I pick up the pendant, rolling the round ornament between my fingertips, reading the words engraved on it. Carpe Diem. It's a funny feeling, I think, treasuring something you used to want to destroy. Not funny, ha-ha… funny as in what-a-fucking-joke.

I meet her eyes again. "Are you always going to be suspicious of everything I do?"

"Yes."

Her voice is barely a breath.

I laugh again, but there's no humor in it. I appreciate the honesty, but I hate the fucking answer.

"Just like you'll always be suspicious of me," she continues. "Maybe when you start trusting me again, I'll give you the benefit of the doubt, too."

"Maybe," I say, bending down, my lips near her ear as I whisper, "but you probably shouldn't."

I let go of her necklace and stand back up straight just as Melody turns, once again striking up conversation with Karissa. Melody's eyes are wide, pleading, her voice matching that look as she says, "so, did you think about it any more?"

Karissa glances at her. "Think about what?"

"Taking that class with me," Melody says. "Ethics & Society."

Karissa's expression shifts as she scrunches up her nose. "Hell no."

"Oh, come on!" Melody says, grabbing her arm and pulling on it, like a toddler throwing a tantrum. "Please? I can't take a philosophy class without you. That's all kinds of wrong. Jesus Christ, it's like, blasphemous."

"Then don't take it."

"But I want to, and I don't get why you don't."

"Don't what?" Paul's voice cuts through the conversation as he strolls over to the table. "What's going on?"

"Karissa doesn't want to take that class with me."

Paul laughs. "The philosophy class? Didn't she fail the first one?"

"I didn't fail," Karissa says defensively. "I just didn't do as well as I hoped."

"That's because Santino was an asshole," Melody says. "You should've gotten an A in the class. You were great at it! That to be or not to be, if there's a tree in the forest does it shit on a bear kind of crazy is you all day long, Kissimmee."

The others laugh, and I'll hand it to Melody… she's certainly amusing… but all that really registers with me is the flinch Karissa makes at that nickname. Kissimmee. I wonder if she knows the deeper meaning behind it, the history her parents and I have in Kissimmee.

I wonder if I should tell her.

If I should tell her that's where her parents ran off to after destroying my life. If I should tell her they thought it would be their salvation. If I should tell her I tracked them there, found them living in that small house in Kissimmee, Florida, like they were the picture perfect family. It was the last place the two of them were together before Johnny sent Carmela on the run on her own and he came home, to face my judgment. We'll always have Kissimmee, I heard him once say.

He thought I'd leave her alone if he offered himself up on a platter, but I wasn't looking for an easy meal.

I wanted equal justice.

Paul walks away when one of his friends calls his name, wandering over to check the grill. The flames have died down a bit so I can barely see them from where I stand.

"Ethics and Society," I say, joining the conversation. "I'm assuming that deals with controversial social issues. Sounds fascinating."

"See!" Melody waves my direction. "He gets it! And remember that murder paper we wrote? You got an A on that one! This is right up your alley. Murder's totally your thing!"

I stifle a laugh at that.

I read Karissa's essay on murder. I saw it lying on Daniel's desk the first time I confronted him for how he was treating her in class. It was horrendous.

She deserved to fail it.

But of course I made him pass her anyway.

"And come on," Melody continues, really laying it on thick. "There's a whole section on sexual morality. You have to take it. Everyone else is all blah blah blah, but this is the business! Nowadays everybody wants to talk like they got something to say, you know? But nothing comes out when they move their lips. It's ridiculous. Where else are you going to get such titillating conversation?"

I have no idea what the hell the girl is rambling about, but it somehow cracks Karissa, the corner of her lips flickering with the hint of a smile. "From Eminem."

Melody clutches her chest dramatically, throwing her head back. "God, I wish. That man could titillate me all night long. But he's not here, and you are, so I think you should totally take this class with me."

"Besides," Paul shouts as he slaps the metal grate on top of the grill, "it's not like you have to worry about Santino this year. Someone already took care of that for you."

Karissa's eyes immediately shift in my direction as Melody's attention is diverted. She chastises her boyfriend for making light of their professor's death, while the gaze that's pointed at me is full of nothing but suspicion. She knows. I know she does. She hasn't come out and asked me, hasn't brought it up beyond the initial conversation the night she was questioned by the police, but I can see in her eyes that she's thought about it.